In Plain Sight
by Mislav
Summary: When Sherlock first suggested that they go undercover as a married couple, in order to catch a serial killer, Joan was more than hesitant. But all for the case, right? Both Joanlock and case!fic! Yes, it can be done :) Also, the Valentine's Day fanfic. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **I just had to publish this on the Valentine's Day! I will do my best to complete this soon. This story takes place in the current season.**

Both Sherlock and Joan stared at the ceiling in desperation. The paint was cracked on all places and there were even some holes. The floor underneath was covered with brick dust. It was a cold February afternoon, and some prospectives looked highly pessimistic as of recently.

"I told you that you shouldn't be doing such experiments in here!", Joan accused him. "Now the living room ceiling is almost completely ruined! And don't even get me stated on the window in your room."

"We have already found a man that will fix it completely within two weeks", Sherlock pointed out.

"Yeah, only the water forecast announced a heavy rain starting from Tuesday!", Joan yelled.

"Have I disrupted your Valentine's Day plans?", Sherlock asked teasingly, making Joan roll her eyes. "I ask, knowing that you don't have any."

"Shut up", Joan mumbled.

"Come on, Joan. Don't tell me that you enjoyed that soapy holiday? Pure commercialism poorly disguised?"

Joan smirked. "By the way, what about... Fiona?"

"That... didn't end well."

Sherlock was about to say something, when his ringtone went off. He picked up his phone and answered the call.

"Hallo? Aha. We'll be right here." He ended the call and turned to face Joan. "We have more important things to put our mind to. An apparent murder/suicide downtown. With an emphasis on "apparent"."

#

The sight was pretty depressing. Young brunette, in the satin night gown, was laying dead on the bedroom floor, near the bed, two gunshot wounds to her chest. Her husband, Daniel Jones, a man of average height and weight, with short blobde hair and blue eyes, was laying dead in the armchair near the bed, the gun in his right hand and a gunshot wound to his right temple.

"Daniel and Jenny Jones, both twenty seven", Marcus read. "They had only been living in this house for a week."

"It looks like the murder-suicide", Thomas explained. "The guy shot his wife two times, then turned the gun on himself. The gun is registered in his name."

"And yet, we are here", Sherlock exclaimed.

"Daniel's brother is a police officer in New Jersey, so I won't leave any stone unturned", Thomas explained, as Sherlock began searching the bedroom closet. Joan started going through the drawers on the bedside table.

"It doesn't look promising though. His gun. Gunshot residue on his hand. Blood splatters on his T-shirt. All the doors and windows locked from the inside."

"Both men's and women's clothing, of different sizes, in their closet", he noticed. "Only basic hygiene supplies in other bathrooms, I noticed." He observed the bed closely. "Bed sheets and pillows appear to be equally wrinkled, over the whole surface." He looked at the walls. "Many happy photographs of them together, dating from the time before they were married to a mere month ago." "Nothing dysfunctional in sight."

"The appearances can be deceitful", Thomas pointed out.

"Daniel Jones' credit card receipt", Joan noted, reading the receipt that she had foubd in the bedside drawer. "He purchased two bags of "Fruit Loops" two days ago."

They started observing the bodies again. Sherlock paid a special attention to Daniel's T-shirt, then the rest of his clothing.

"All of the clothes is actually pretty tidy", he noticed. "Except for his T-shirt. It is wrinkled, a bit loose."

"Maybe he was just distressed", Marcus suggested.

"Or somebody else wore that T-shirt while murdering ms., and then redressed mr. before murdering him", Sherlock pointed out. "Also, note the scuff marks on the floor, leading from the hallway into the bedroom over to the armchair."

Joan straightened herself up, after she had observed a preculiar looking stain on the wall near the bedroom door. Thomas walked over to her, observing the stain himself.

"Judging by the discoloration and the scent over here, somebody recently applied bleach to this area of the wall only", she explained. "No similar traces anywhere else in the house. They don't even have the bleach in the house."

Sherlock looked at Joan proudly. "And so, the picture becomes clear."

Joan nodded her head. "Somebody could have punched him in the right temple, knocking him unconsciousness. He, or she, could have put on his T-shirt, from his closet, taken his gun, and murder his wife, while maybe controlling her with his own gun at the time. Once the bleeding had stop, they only needed to take his top off, put his previously mentioned T-shirt, by then stained with blood and gunshot residue, on him, drag him close to his wife's body, sit him in the chair facing the corpse, put the gun in his right hand, put the finger at the trigger, press the gun against his right temple... and bang. Daniel is dead, all the evidence point to murder-suicide theory, and the injury on his right temple had been concealed by the gunshot."

Marcus chimmed in. "And the killer then cleaned up the blood from the wall, took the cleaning supplies and the first T-shirt with him, and left..." He looked around. "After locking all the doors and windows from the inside. Makes sense."

"It does, actually", Sherlock pointed out, moving to the hallway window, near the bedroom door. "Scratch marks over the underside of the window frame and the lock, from the inner side. Still fresh, there is no rust and there are still traces of paint dust around." He took a deep breath. "An old trick. You slip the wire under the window frame, used it to unlock it, open the window and go inside. You later go out through the window, close it, sip the wire underneath the window frame again, this time using it to lock the said window. From the inside."

He pulled out his phone and started typing quickly, his face lighting up once he found the information he had been looking for.

"In 2012, the Miller family lived here", he exclaimed, showing the info on his IPhone to the others. The photograph of smiling African American family was featured there, near the grizzly news reports. "Father, Shermain, mother, Tracy, and a seven year old son, Jake. On June 25th 2012, they were all found dead in their home. This home. Father and son had been stabbed to death, mother had died due to a sleeping pills overdose. The authorities concluded that Tracy had murdered her husband and son, then committed suicide." He pocketed his phone. "I was at Hemdale at the time, so the case escaped my attention. They deprived me of newspapers, TV, Internet access... barbaric. The case was soon solved and, after a few weeks, it faded into an oblivion. Miller family had only been living in this house before two weeks before meeting their tragic demise. I do remember reading some follow up news briefly, which is why I recall that crime."

"Until now", Marcus said.

"You think that there is a serial killer at large, targeting married couples who live in this house?", Joan asked. "Making those deaths look like murder/suicides?"

"That is a definite possibility", Sherlock agreed. "It may be a coincidence, but it is a highly unlikely one."

His face lightened up, an idea appearing into his mind. He took a step closer to Joan, and he grinned. "He is very careful. Elusive. And, by all accounts, he murders those couples shortly after they move in this house. He gave the Miller family two weeks. A week to the Jones family." He raised his eyebrows at Joan. "And, as you very well know, Joan, within days we will need a new place to live, for the next couple of weeks."

Joan glared at him. "What are you getting at?"

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Sorry for the late update, but here it is! This chapter is still case-heavy, but the rest will be a heavy Joanlock.**

 **The brand of sleeping pills featured in this story is fictional.**

Sherlock had to literally run after Joan as she stormed downstairs into the kitchen. He ignored the giggles and whispers from some of the responding officers and quietly closed the door behind.

"How dare you suggest something like that in front of all those people?", she hissed.

"I didn't suggest anything, I just... insinuated."

The short silence ensued. Joan was breathing heavily, trying to calm herself down.

"Why don't we just conduct the investigation like usual?", she eventually asked. Wait for the autopies to be done, forensic reports to come in? Talk to the suspects? Somebody must turn up soon!"

"And we will. That shall be over in a few days. If, by that point, we reach the dead end... and we end up having no place to stay by that point, due to the ceiling damage in the brownstone..."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Which is your fault", she pointed out.

Sherlock ignored that remark. "Not important. I just think that it is a good idea." He took a step closer to Joan, lowering his voice. "The man, or woman, who we are looking for, obviously doesn't wait long once the people fitting his or her victim type move into that house. The police will set up hidden cameras on the inside and outside, set up a police patrol near by... maybe I can convince them to let us keep gun in here..."

Joan crossed her arms over her chest. "A gun?"

Sherlock grimaced. "I'm quite... handy with them. We've been getting to that part of your training as of recently."

Joan sighed. "OK, then why you? Why not Marcus? Gregson?"

"Because of our skills", Sherlock explained. "Our deduction skills. Our methods." "Also, going undercover-another part of your training that we haven't done yet. And who is better to guide you through it than your mentor-and partner-himself?"

Joan looked away, albeit calmer. "I don't know..."

"Are you concerned about your acting skills?", Sherlock asked. "Because I can help you with those too."

Joan sighed and didn't answer anything.

"It wouldn't be much different than our current life", Sherlock said assuringly. "We'd just have to spend most of our time in that house, together, go out at times, also together..."

Joan turned to face him. "I'd have to kiss you?", she exclaimed.

Sherlock nodded his head. "If needed, yes", he answered calmly.

Joan groaned and sat down. Sherlock glared at her.

"Will that stop you from tracking down the murderer who has already claimed five lives?"

"No! Just... I've never done something like that before."

Sherlock sat down on the chair, next to her. "I understand", he assured her calmly. "But it may be necessary. And you have to start somehow." He leaned a bit closer to her, making her shiver. "Going undercover is one of the most fetishised yet also one of the most complex and rewarding types of the detective work. The art of hiding in plain sight and convincing the most hardened and elusive of criminals that you are of their kind, or their prey."

"What about your father?", Joan asked, almost sheepishly. "You know he..."

"I see no reason why he should interfere. And he'll be away at Long Island due to business for the next two weeks anyway. Hopefully he'll finally leave for London in a month or two."

Joan was about to respond when Thomas walked into the room. Not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea, Sherlock moved away from Joan a bit.

"I don't know what you two are getting up to, but I managed to find out who owned the house from 2012 to 2016. The guy named Derek Giles. He had to move out two weeks ago, after the bank reposessed it."

"No current address, I presume?", Sherlock expected.

"No, but we managed to obtain his cellphone number. Our techs managed to pinpoint it's signal to a cheap motel downtown. He is signed in there under an alias. John Bundy."

Sherlock scoffed. "How original."

#

Derek finally shook hands with Thomas, Sherlock and Joan, before sitting down on the bed. He was a tall, slightly buff Caucasian man, bald, with black eyes. His small motel room was pretty messy: soda cans and empty pizza boxes scattered around.

"I had nothing to do with that", he repeated, referring to the murders.

"They lived in the same house the Miller family did", Thomas pointed out.

Derek remained silent for some time, looking at the people in front of himself intently. "I had nothing to do with that either."

"Can you account to your whereabouts for this morning at about seven am?", Sherlock asked, sounding almost brazen.

"I was in here. Sleeping."

"Did you have any relations to Jones'?", Sherlock asked. "Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt them?"

"No! I haven't even heard about them until now."

"You bid on that house, but Millers got it instead of you", Thomas pointed out. "You managed to buy the house after they died. The bank evicted you, another couple brought the house, and now they are dead too."

"I didn't kill anyone!", Derek cried. "Why would I kill that second couple anyway? I don't have enough money to buy my house back anyway! Damn economy crisis."

"The price really decreased after the Millers were murdered", Joan pointed out. "And now..."

Derek looked at her, condescendingly. "I believe that would still be beyond my means", he said in the same tone.

"Would you mind us searching your room?", Thomas asked.

"Unless you have a warrant, yes, I would mind!", Derek exclaimed. He looked Thomas in the eyes. "And I would like you to leave now."

#

Sherlock, Joan and Thomas were walking toward the car slowly, sometimes glancing at the motel.

"What do you think?", Thomas asked.

"I don't know", Joan admitted.

"He has a prior criminal record, je used to live in that house and he failed to provide an alibi in both cases", Sherlock remisced. He took one more glance at the motel. "I think that he is innocent."

Joan raised her eyesbrows at him. Thomas frowned. "How so?", he asked.

"He did seem honestly surprised when we informed him about two recent murders and pointed to a possible connection with the Miller case", Sherlock exclaimed. "Also, it takes a lot of precision to sneak in and out of the house and leaving hardly in trace. Mr. Giles' shoe laces were tied in one of the most clumsiests fashions that I've ever seen, and he had one recent and one partially healed shaving cut on his face. Also, have you noticed that he wore his wrist watch on his left hand?"

"He's right handed, so what?", Thomas snickered.

"He cringed when he shook hands with us. He's been saving his dominant hand and he, obviously, can't use his left one instead. Probably due to a bar fight that he got involved in last night or this early morning, judging by beads under his eyes, smell of alcohol on his breath and fresh glass cuts on his nuckles. The incident that, luckily for him, remained unreported. That could explain why he didn't want his room to be searched. He wouldn't have had the strength necessary to commit two murders and estage the crime scene in such fashion."

They stopped a few feet away from the car, once Thomas' ringtone went off. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered. "Hallo." He frowned. "Aha. OK, we'll be right there."

He ended the call and turned to face Sherlock and Joan, pocketing his phone as he did.

"Marcus just finished talking to both of the victim's parents", he informed them. "As far as they know, had no problems in their marriage and they had no known enemies. But Jenny talked to her mother a few days ago, she mentioned that she and planned to hire a house painter. We already have the phone records, only we have to examine them. But few of our guys went through the most recent ones and found the house painter. Horatio Simms. He has his own small company and he was convicted of illegal possession of a fire arm and an armed robbery in 2007. Jenny called him five days ago, using her private phone, Danny called him again two days ago, using his own private phone. And yet, there are no records of that on their phones, although the phone company has those records."

Sherlock and Joan exchanged a look. "It looks like somebody tried to cover up his tracks."

Thomas unlocked the car and they both went in: him sitting on the driver's seat, Sherlock and Joan settling in the back. "We better solve this quickly", Thonas commented. "The press is already working on the whole serial killer story."

#

Horatio Simms, a Caucasian man of average height and weight, with short brown hair and brown eyes, paced around his small office, located near his warehouse. He wore a white shirt, black pants and black work shoes. The whole place smelled of paint and paint thinner.

"I didn't kill those people", he claimed. "I didn't kill that first family either."

"The victims contacted you twice in the five days prior to their death", Thomas said.

Horatio stopped for a moment. "Yeah, they wanted to hire me as a house painter. We had some negotiations, all civil. Obviously, we didn't get the chance to arrange anything."

"Were you ever at their house?", Joan asked. "Do you know anything about their lives? Any possible enemies?"

"No, none of that", Horatio answered. "It was just a business deal."

"But the deleted phone calls...", Sherlock said. "You have to admit, that is pretty suspicious."

"Maybe, but I didn't kill anyone."

"Would you mind us taking a look at your phone?", Sherlock asked. "Are the records of those calls in your phone."

Horatio sighed. "I got annoyed when they didn't call back... and sort of deleted them."

"Where were you this morning at about seven am?", Thomas asked.

"In here. Check my work sheet, check the security footages. I had nothing to do with that murder."

#

Within an hour, Sherlock and Joan were in one of the precinct workrooms, close to the file cabinet. Joan was already sitting at the table, sipping her coffee, before Sherlock walked over, the case box marked "MILLER" in his hands, and lowered the heavy item down on the surface of the table, close to Joan.

"Horatio Simms' alibi checks out too", he exclaimed. "Currently, we have no other choice but to look into the Miller case."

He opened the box and took a look at all the files inside.

"Imagine us, being married", Joan suddenly exclaimed, before chuckling.

Sherlock glanced at her, but said nothing. Joan put on her reading eyeglasses, blushing and little, and took one of the files from the box.

"We would live together, all the time", she mused.

"Do most of the things together too", Sherlock added, sitting down.

Joan bit her lower lip, looking up at the ceiling. "Go out together..."

They both flinched, finally seeing the obvious.

"We don't go out together", Joan said. "Well, not often."

"Last Friday", Sherlock reminded her. "Pomodoro Rosso."

Joan rolled her eyes. "We staked out that warehouse near by, that was the closest place we could have dinner without getting too distracted."

Sherlock didn't comment on anything. He pulled the file containing the autopsy reports out of the box. "Basically, sex would make all the difference", he said, sounding almost half-jokingly.

"Ugh", Joan exhaled, ignoring the shudder that she felt.

Sherlock looked at her, suddenly looking even more serious. "Don't condescend. You know that I am quite... committed to such acts." He opened the file, raising his eyebrows. "And I am most certainly not a selfish lover", he said silently.

Joan shivered. "Yes, I had the misfortune of hearing... some stories." She lowered her voice too. "And seeing one tape..."

"I since moved it to a secret browser, don't worry", Sherlock said casually.

"Thanks."

"Of course, to you, marriage is just an "unnatural arrangement"", Joan couldn't help but say.

"From what I've been able to see, deduce and experience so far, in most cases, yes", Sherlock said calmly, not looking up.

Joan looked at him for some time, contemplating about asking a follow up question or two, but eventually decided against it, and focused on studying the case file.

#

Ten pm. They were still there. Sherlock looked at Joan intently. She was sound asleep, her head lying down against her arms, that lied on the table. She looked really peaceful like that.

That didn't stop him from walking her up by screaming "Watson!" short distance away from her right ear. She almost jumped from the chair, startled, before taking a deep breath and rubbing her eyes. Upon seeing Sherlock, she groaned and slapped him on the shoulder.

"You're awake!", he exclaimed. "Excellent."

He moved his chair closer to her, once again his usual hyperactive self.

"At first, the case against Tracy appears to be rock solid", he started, while Joan looked at him tiredly. "Her bloody fingerprints were found on the knife. The knife that matched, by size, dimensions and tool marks, to the injuries on Eric's and Jake's bodies. The knife covered in both Eric's and Jake's blood. Traces of that same blood found all over both front and back sides of her clothing and both outer and inner side of her hands. Drinking glass found on the floor, containing traces of soda and sleeping pills, matching to her stomach content. Only her fingerprints and DNA were found on that drinking glass, only her fingerprints were found on that pull bottle. M.E. concluded that the person who murdered Shermain and Jake was right handed, of an average upper body strength, between one hundred and seventy four and one hundred and seventy nine centimeters tall. That matched to Tracy. No traces og a breaking in. No foreign fingerprints or DNA found inside the house. The classic case of murder/suicide, it would appear. But it is not."

He went through the file and pulled out two crime scene photographs, then put her on the table in front of Joan. One featured a dining room table in the Miller family kitchen, the other the writing desk upstairs, both with wet, round shaped stains on the surface.

"Look at this", Sherlocl said, pointing at the stains. "Soda rings. Quite recent, since they are obviously moist. Both consistent with the shape of the glass that had contained soda and sleeping pills that Tracy consumed." He looked Joan in the eyes, lowering his voice for a more dramatic effect. "If you had just murdered your husband and son, would you prepare soda with a deadly dose of sleeping pills, take a sip, and then walk around the house for some time before draining the potion? Also, there are no traces of blood in the upstairs bedroom, stairwell leading up to it or the aforementioned drinking glass. No traces of blood on the pill bottle either." He took a deep breath, then licked his dry lips. "By all accounts, forensics gave those rings little to no value. By they still marked them, photograph them, took swabs. Analysis showed that the traces of soda matches to the ones found in the drinking glass, that matched to the soda found in Tracy's stomach. No swabs contained any traces of sleeping pills that caused her death."

"Ventir", Joan noted, cringing. "Pretty strong, easy to buy without the prescription."

Sherlock then put the autopsy photographs showing Tracy's wrists and hips, and the autopsy report, on the table in front of Joan.

"Tracy also had fresh injuries to her wrists and hips. M.E. concluded that those were defensive wounds, that she had sustained from her husband and son while she had been stabbing them to death. I happen to think otherwise."

One more photograph, showing a key bowl, on the cupboard near the front door.

"Look at the key bowl. It was placed on the cupboard near the front door. There were two house keys. One belonging to the husband, Eric. It was found in his pocket. The other one belonged to Tracy. As you can see on this crime scene photograph, it was found inside the bowl, on the top of the other keys. Meaning that she must have used it recently, prior to her death."

He showed her another photograph, showing the back of Tracy's blouse, jeans and sneakers, all soaked in blood.

"Tracy was, indeed, covered with blood. But those traces of blood were way too smeared for the actual blood splatters analysis. When the killer is stabbing the victim to death, he, or she, pushes the knife through the flesh and wields it back before striking again, easily getting the blood on both front and back side of his or her clothing." He took a closer look at the photograph. "But still, the sheer amount of blood on the back side of Tracy's clothing, especially her jeans and tennis shows, is unusual."

Joan looked him in the eyes, a bright smile on her face. "You have a theory."

Sherlock smiled back at her. "Indeed I have. Tracy knew her killer. She let him in. He planted the crushed sleeping pills in her drinking glass, in the soda that she had been drinking at the moment. He expected her to die, so he could estage suicide. Tracy drank the soda, went upstairs, for some reason. There were no traces of pills found in the soda rings, but it wouldn't have been if the killer had planted them after the soda was poured into the glass, and little to no soda dripped out or spilled when those rings were made. Tracy had no idea that she was about to die. At that point, her husband and son arrived home early. The killer panicked. They saw him. Maybe he could have made the explanation for his presence in there, but Tracy was sure to die soon. The police would end up suspecting him. He grabbed the knife and murdered the easier target first. The son. A single, deep stab wound to the aorta. Shermain grabbed the killer by the hands, from behind, struggled with him. The killer managed to elbow him in the mouth, turn around and stab him to death. Two times in the chest and three times in the stomach. By that point, Tracy had returned downstairs. She panicked, grabbed the knife, leaving her bloody fingerprints on the handle and getting blood on her hands. She attacked the killer. He was fighting back, hence bruises on her writsts and thighs. By that time, the pills started working. She grew weak, passed out, and died. The killer then fled through the front door, the type of door that locks authomatically when closed from the outside. He either wore gloves or wiped his fingerptints off. He didn't stick around long enough to leave any usable shoe prints or DNA or trace evidence."

"So, the whole murder/suicide thing wasn't planned."

"But it obviously wasn't a coincidence that last night's murders appeared that way."

Joan frowned. "Maybe the killer heard how the investigation turned out and decided to make that his M.O."

"Or he murdered for a different reason, got lucky and decided to use the same trick on", Sherlock suggested.

"That would mean that he isn't just killing any couple who lives in that house." "We may not need to go undercover after all."

Sherlock shook his head. "That is just a possibility. A very slim one too. There is just no evidence of any connection between the two families. And both were murdered soon after moving into that very house."

"Maybe they got killed because of something that is inside the house?"

Sherlock shook his head again. "Derek lived in there for four years. Nothing happened to him, or the house. There haven't even been any reported breakinhs or burglaries regarding that house, no arsons, no documents stalkers."

Joan took one more look at the case file. "Tracy worked as a nurse at Rikers prison hospital. She got in some altercations with a man named Johnny Stanworth, a convicted rapist. He got paroled a month prior to the murders. Police interrogated him: he denied any involvement, but couldn't provide an alibi. He seems like a viable suspect."

"He doesn't, actually. He died due to an alcoholic poisoning a year ago."

Joan picked up a few papers from her desk, examining them closely. "And the only odd thing about their credit card receipts is that purchases a screwdriver and some screws five days prior to the murders. I don't remember seeing it anywhere in the house."

"Not suspicious, he was fixing one of the kitchen cupboards. I noticed the new screws, as well as some fresh scratches and traces of wooden dust. That brand of a screwdriver is cheap. Maybe he lost it or it got broken during the repair so he three it away." He fondled his hands together. "And I check. There hadn't been similar murders in that neighborhood, or any close ones, over the course od the last decade."

Joan sighed, leaning back into her chair. Sherlock gazed at her. "Do you want to go home?"

"Yes", she moaned.

#

Sherlock and Joan arrived at the precinct early the next morning. They fell asleep almost right after arriving there the last night and all the ceilings at the brownstone were still holding up. They found Thomas and Marcus standing near by, like they had been waiting for them.

"Any break throughs?", Sherlock immediately asked.

"We finished going through their phone and email records", Marcus answered, less than enthusiastically. "They communicated with their families and friends, few of the coworkers. None have an apparent motive, most of them have alibies. No foreign fingerprints or DNA evidence found in the house. The bleach degrated any possible forensic evidence on the area where the bleach had been applied. That bleach is of a very common brand, you can buy it in every store."

"But the really disturbing thing is that this was mailed to our precinct this morning", Thomas said, handing the file to Joan. She opened it, immediately getting Sherlock's attention. Two news primt outs were inside, one about the Miller case, another about the Jones case, all with the taunt "Until the next time" written over the surface with the black marker.

"The house where the murder happened was listed as the return address", Thomas explained. "Postal code matches to that area too. But the house is still sealed, the police patrol is near by, they haven't noticed anything suspicious. There is no evidence of anyone being inside or near by since the murders. These are copies, the originals are undergoing the forensic analysis. The envelope also contained a paper tissue, stained with blood. The preliminary tests proved that the blood was human."

Marcus sighed. "We are doing our best to keep this under wraps, but it is hard. The press is going nuts."

Sherlock slowly looked up to meet Joan's eyes. "It looks like we have an actual serial killer on our hands after all."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my natove language.**

 **Remember, the events of this story are leading up to the Valentine's Day.**

 **Sherlock also uses the alias "Shawn" in the episode 2x4 "Poison Pen".**

Sherlock was studying the bodies, autopsy reports in his hand, while Joan was standing at the side, reading the recently issued forensic reports about the letters. Reginald was looking around, a tired look on his face.

"Jenny died as a result of two gunshot wounds to the chest two days ago at around seven am", he informed them. "Danny died as a result of a single gunshot wound to the head, also two days ago at around seven am. No other injuries, nothing under their fingernails, all tox screens came back clean. There were traces of gunshot residue on Danny's right hand."

"We are dealing with a smart-and cruel-man", Sherlock theorized.

"No clues about the letters either", Joan noted, still reading. "Very common brand of envelope, stamp, ink used to write the address, marker used to write the taunt, and the paper tissue. Paper and ink regarding print outs is also pretty common and cheap, probably from a public computer. Library, computer cafe... No fingerprints or DNA. Only the victim's blood was found on the tissue."

Sherlock grimaced, still observing the bodies. "He did a great job with making his crime look like a murder/suicide, but his vanity got the better of him."

~TWO DAYS LATER~

#

It was eight am and Joan was still asleep. That, like always, didn't stop Sherlock from barging into her room like he always did. He pulled all the drapes up, then opened her closet, already picking up the clothes for her. "Rise and shine, Watson !"

Watson moved to lie on the side, opening her eyes with a groan. She noticed that Sherlock had two files under his hand. "What is it?", she asked.

"Our undercover mission starts today", Sherlock explain excitedly, throwing a T-shirt and jeans on the bed in front of Joan.

"What?", Joan exclaimed, sitting up in the bed. She instantly wasn't as sleepy.

"See for yourself", Sherlock said, handing her one of the files. She took it, immediately taking her reading eyeglasses and putting them on.

"We are now mr. and ms. Morgan", he explained as she opened the file.

Joan fixed her hair, looking at the paper tiredly. "Well, at least you didn't use "Smith"".

"My name-alias-is Shawn, yours is Jane. You work as a surgeon, I work as a landscape architect. We already have a Facebook page. One for each, I mean. Plenty of gleeful info and cheery photographs. No dirty things."

Joan looked up at Sherlock. "How classy of you." She ran her hand through her hair. "Do you seriously expect that nobody will recognize us? Figure out our cover?"

"Well, we do our best to stay low profile", Sherlock reminded her, while she started going through the print outs of the Facebook pages. "Now it's time for that to pay off. And, hopefully, we won't have to be undercover for long. Not to mention, we have no relations to that neighborhood."

Joan frowned. "Are these time stamps saying that our Facebook profiles were created in 2011?" She continued flipping through the pages, stopping at the photograph showing her and Sherlock standing at the Eiffel tower, hugged and smiling. "And a photograph of us in Paris?" She looked at several other photographs. "Rome?"

"A meticulous ruse perpetrated by me, with the help of my irregulars from "Everyone". And photoshop."

Joan sighed. "Nice."

Sherlock put another file on the bed in front of her. "Things to learn..."

"What things?", Joan asked, picking up the file.

Sherlock started counting. "When we did we meet. When we got married. How many people were at the wedding ceremony. Our pet names..."

Joan widened her eyes. "Pet names?"

"Several options. Some may be a bit "hard-core"..."

Joan snickered at the pages. At first, she didn't even notice Sherlock pulling the ring box out of his pocket and handing it to her.

"Our wedding rings!", he exclaimed.

Joan felt a thrill rush through her body before she opened the ring box. She stared in awe at the two rings on the bottom. "Are these the real diamonds?", she whispered.

Sherlock nodded his head. "I am familiar with the seller. I know things. It was a piece of cake."

"Wow", Joan exhaled before closing the box and putting it on her bedside table. She started going through the pages.

"List of places we have to visit", Sherlock listed. " Furniture shops, movie theater, restaurants... make the impression of happy newlyweds and show off around the neighborhood in order to flush our man out."

Joan grinned, looking up at him. "Sounds like fun."

#

Within two hours, they were standing in the living room, at Jones' home. Kimberly, a young brown haired woman, a tech expert, stood in the center of the room, giving them instructions. Joan looked around. The house was nice, but the thought of living in the place where five murders have happened still gave her chills.

"There are high quality security cameras in all rooms, except for the bathroom and the bedrooms", Kimberly explained, walking around. "There are some outside too, all hidden. No high security on any of the doors or windows, no visible alarm. We don't want to make it too hard for him, make him suspicious, cause him to back off. There are, however, hidden silent alarms under each door and window. You can turn them on and off using those apps that we installed into your phones. You should keep them turned on starting from late at night to early in the morning. Still, be careful not to turn them on by accident." She pointed to some areas on the floor. "We marked them with this lines, you see." She stopped and looked them in the eyes. "If any of the alarms go off, the patrol will know, immediately. They will be in the house accross the street. I left you a police radio, just in case, but be discreetly with it." She glared at Sherlock. "And NO gun."

"We won't need to wear any recording devices or anything when we go outside, right?", Joan asked, slightly concerned.

Kimberly shook her head. "No. But be alert."

They exchanged some more tips and warnings, and then Kimberly left. Sherlock looked after her for some time, then turned around to face Joan, smiled, and picked up the first moving box up from the floor. "And so we start", he declared.

#

Joan looked around the bedroom one more time, running a hand through her hair. "Well, other than the bleach stains all over the place, this is nice."

Sherlock nodded his head. "They do look better than the blood stains."

Joan sighed. "Most definitely." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"The guest room. There is one in the back. You could have slept in there, but, apparently, the lack of bathroom and heat is an important thing for you."

"Which is why I insist you should be sleeping in the living room."

Sherlock grimaced. "Too distracting."

He was checking all the details in the room one more time, preparing to leave.

"What about you and Fiona?", Joan asked carefully.

Sherlock stood still, eying her suspiciously. "Usual things."

Joan chuckled, making Sherlock glare at her. "Something funny?"

"You, Fiona and "usual" in the same sentence."

Sherlock sighed, pacing around the room.

"If you must know, I focused on my work, detective work, and my partnership with you quite greatly, especially as of lately, and that caused us to... part ways."

Joan blushed, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I'm sorry", he said.

"It's not your fault", Sherlock assured her. "And it wasn't ugly. We actually remained friends."

#

The boutique that they walked into didn't look too expensive, but some parts were definitely glamurous. There were several nice eucaliptus trees growing near by, outside.

"Not too... money demanding", Sherlock explained. "But sufficiently... classy, so to say. And popular. A perfect way to attract somebody's attention."

A clerk, red haired woman in her forties, walked over to them before they even had the chance to walk to the counter. "Hello", she greeted them cheerfully. "How can I help you?"

"Oh, I-we-are just looking for an... evening outfit, a dress-for me", Joan replied casually. "Maybe new shoes. We are going out tonight. And we will again in... the near future." She chuckled. "Kind of a... big thing."

"I doubt that will last long", Sherlock commented proudly. "She has a peculiar tendency, more of an ability, to look great in pretty much anything."

"Stop it", Joan whispered, trying not to cringe.

"Well, it is true", Sherlock continued,

"You are married?", the clerk asked.

"As of very recently, yes", Joan replied, showing her right hand, the ring clearly noticeable.

"Nice", the red haired commented before turning around. "Follow me. We have some great new pieces."

Joan followed after her, with Sherlock in tow. "Even the demeanors are fake in there", she commented under her breath.

#

Sherlock was sitting on the chair in front of the changing room, growing impatient. He didn't know why though. He took a deep breath, waiting for Joan to come out. The idea of seeing her into a new dress felt strangely... tiltrating to him. Once again, he didn't know why. And that was rare. But again, they were on a dangerous mission, so the excitement was understandable.

Finally, she showed up. Sherlock shivered, feeling a jolt go down his stomach. Joan was wearing a black evening dress, pretty comfortable, but still leaning up her curves closely. It was low cut, so he had a very nice view of her long, smooth legs. She looked at him questioningly, as he squirmed, fondling his hands together.

"So?"

"It'a great", he said. He smiled slightly. "It fits you... very well. It is great."

Joan smiled, tilting her head to the side. "Thank you." She frowned. "I have one more to try on..."

"Go ahead", Sherlock encouraged her, almost too eagerly. "We have to act natural. Make an impression."

Joan glared at him. "Sure", she mused, sounding a bit suspicious. She turned around and was about to head back into the changing room. Sherlock's eyes centered on her high heeled shoes. The dim lights in the room reflected against her skin very nicely. He shivered.

"Joan", he called, snapping back to attention. She stopped and turned to face him. Sherlock looked around, making sure that nobody was close by, then took a step closer. "It occurred to me... the killer didn't send any letters after murdering the Miller family. He sent the letter now, referencing to all five murders. Why?"

Joan frowned, standing still. "I don't know. Maybe he is... accelerating. Getting more brazen, wanting attention. I heard that such things happen."

Sherlock nodded his head. "Maybe." He decided to focus on one of the shockingly dull magazines available in there while Joan was busy changing.

#

They had the seats by the large restaurant window, though some distance away from other guests. Joan wore the black dress she had tried on that day: despite her insistence, Sherlock hadn't purchased anything, and insisted on wearing his old tuxedo. It was already pretty dark outside.

"This is a nice neighborhood", Sherlock said, looking at the street. "We made a good choice", he concluded before taking a sip of water.

"I can hardly remember when was the last time we had the chance to go out like this", Joan said, giggling. "I can't imagine going back to work soon."

As she finished the sentence, she carefully observed the young man few tables away, in the reflection of her glasses, left on the table near her plate. He was sitting there alone for quite some time, often looking at them. Sherlock noticed Joan's actions with a smirk. The man, however, soon stood up, paid for his dinner, and left the restaurant.

Joan took one more bite, and Sherlock leaned over, his hot breath tickling her face. "You're doing great", he whispered. "Keep it up."

Joan smiled, leaning closer to him. "This is so weird."

Sherlock remained silent for some time, looking her in the eyes. "It's only weird because it doesn't feel... forced."

And once again, he had been looking her straight in the eyes, that weird "knowing" look over his whole place. Joan stared back at him, her mouth partially widened into a smile, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Sherlock chuckled silently, his hand moving a few inches forward. Joan figured that he was probably just going for his drinking glass, not her hand (that wasn't that far away), but, for some reason, that made her snap out of it... whatever "it" was. She straightened herself up, leaning back into her chair, moving his body away from him. Sherlock stood there like frozen, straddled slightly, his hand stretched out: but he soon picked up his drinking glass and took a sip of water, as calm as ever. Joan sighed in relief.

"I told my mother about this", she said more silently, thus obviously referring to their undercover operation. "She couldn't believe it. She still can't, probably."

"Be lucky that you were even allowed to tell her", Sherlock said.

"Isn't it weird that we are in here now?", Sherlock asked. "The Valentine's Day is in a few days."

"We will visit many places that day", Sherlock informed her, eating his stake hungrily. "It's the best to start right away though."

Joan gazed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Maybe we are looking at this the wrong way", she whispered, trying to sound scary. "Maybe it's the house."

"If your agenda is to convince me to watch "Shining" with you again, I assure that is not going to happen", Sherlock replied calmly.

Joan was about to comment on that when Sherlock 's ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone and read the text, his eyebrows raising up. "Something important?", Joan asked.

"I asked detective Bell to go through the history of that house", he explained. "The early history, from the very beginnings. One of the construction workers assigned to the job got injured in the process, Jack Millworth. He sued the construction company, but ended up losing." He looked up at Joan. "Soon afterward, his wife divorced him."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

Joan was turning over in her bed, unable to fall asleep. There was a slight numbnees in the back of her head and her legs were aching. Those damn high heels, probably. She eventually sighed, stood up, and headed toward the kitchen. Fortunaty, there was no alarm on any of the inner doors.

This whole thing was so weird. Especially the last night. Like they were about to cross the line of some sort... but she couldn't even imagine that there was a line that they could cross. She felt ashamed. Is that how little she appreciated their... relationship? Partnership? But again, why would it be wrong to remain just friends, without any potential for something more? And then she felt depressed.

She blinked a few times as she walked down the stairs, her eyesight growing clear once she stepped into the kitchen.

She gasped upon seeingthe lights on, a hunched over figure standing in front of the stove.

"Sherlock!", she exclaimed.

"I'm making a tea. Do you want some?"

Joan sat down at the desk. "No, I'm good." She rubbed her eyes. "I just can't sleep."

"Insomnia, huh?", Sherlock commented.

"I see that you have the same problem", Joan noted.

"True", Sherlock agreed. "But unlike you, I know what keeps me awake."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Fiona?", she whispered.

"Hold your jealousy", Sherlock snapped back. Joan shivered, feeling something tingle in her chest. But Sherlock didn't even touch upon that accusation again. "It's this whole case. The murders."

Joan nodded her head. "Yes, those are pretty gory."

"Sure, that too, but also... the victims. First three victims were African American family with a child, he murdered them all and estaged the scene to make it look like the mother had murdered the father and son and then killed herself. His latest two victims were a Caucasian couple, recently married, both shot to death. He made it look like the husband had murdered his wife and then himself." "The second couple was also younger than the first one. What could that mean? A regression? An arrested development? But for a murderer so organized..."

Joan smiled. "Careful now, you are starting to sound like a criminal profiler."

Sherlock grimaced. "Once again, I just deduce. Or, in this case, struggle with glaring inconsistencies."

"Well, they both lived in this house", Joan reasoned.

"Yes, but he murders couples only. He didn't do anything to Derek Giles, and we already ruled him out as a suspect." He scratched the top of his head. "By the way, that also makes your "Shining" theory mute."

"I was just joking", Joan said. "It wasn't an actual theory."

"Of course it wasn't", Sherlock whispered spectically.

"Well, maybe we will find something useful once Gregson and Bell investigate Jack Millworth", Joan suggested.

"He has already been ruled out", Sherlock said dismissively.

"As of when?", Joan cried.

"As of an hour ago", Sherlock answered, quite calmly. "That's when I received the text, anyway. He's been at the hospital for the last week. Car accident. Both legs broken." He sighed. "Needless to say, he denies any involvement in the crimes and doesn't know anything that could be useful for the investigation."

"That only means that he wasn't directly responsible", Joan pointed out.

"I assure you, Watson, this type of offenders don't hire hitmans", Sherlock said. "Or have an accomplices."

"You could have told me", Joan pointed out silently.

"I thought you were asleep."

Joan nodded her head. "Fair enough."

Sherlock frowned. "I am thinking about examining the records about the prisoners ms. Miller had come in contact with. If there is ever a place filled with psychopaths and deviants..."

Joan sighed. "I'll have to visit my mother in few days. A family thing. Do you think I can go?"

Sherlock snickered. "Ask Kimberly."

#

Marcus sighed and closed the file that he had on his desk. The first sub beams started peeking through the windows. He took a sip of coffee. He was just about to pick up another file when Thonas walked over, a mug in his hand. He gave him a tired look. "No new leads?"

Marcus shook his head. "No. I just found out that the woman who was convicted of double murder in 2011 lived in the neighborhood where the murders happened until recently. I thought of it as a good lead, but it turns out that she has an alibi."

Thomas sighed, looking away. "Let's just hope Sherlock and Joan will find out something."

Marcus chuckled for a moment, fondling his hands together. "I feel for Joan. Pretending to be Sherlock's wife..."

Thomas sighed. "I doubt that she minds it too much."

Marcus looked up at him, surprised by the remark. "Well..."

"I mean, they are close", Thomas rushed to explain. "And professional. Most of the time, anyway. It will all turn out well. And they have a great protection. I made sure of that."

Marcus nodded his head. "Sure." He opened another file, still smiling slightly. "Honestly, I can't imagine myself doing that. Not with Joan, or with... anyone."

Thomas shrugged, drinking some coffe. "I guess it's just a matter of finding the right person."

He walked away. Marcus thought about that statement for some time, then chuckled.

#

Sherlock and Joan were in the hallway of the local movie theater, waiting in line for sodas and popcorns. Joan looked at two tickets in her hand one more time, cringing. There were many couples in there, which annoyed both her and Sherlock, for some reason.

"Congratulations, Sh-Shawn", she said, sarcastically. "Of all the romance comedies, you chose the most cringe worthy one."

"Wait until you see it." He sulked. "Though I agree with you on that. By the way, I only chose it because it includes turtles."

"Sure", Joan commented. She started looking around, feeling bored.

Her gaze stopped at the handsome black haired man in his late thirties, who was standing in the opposite corner of the hallway, looking at the posters on the shivered, feeling a sense of... familiarity. She observed him carefully, going over her memories quickly...

"Oh my God...", she whispered, realization settling in.

"They are the magnificent creatures", Sherlock replied, still in awe.

"David!", Joan hissed, taking a step back.

"Who?", Sherlock asked, turning to face her.

"The... the guy over here", she whispered, pointing at David discreetly. "I used to date him. Back when I was still a surgeon."

Sherlock was baffled by her concern. "So?"

"So?!" She looked around. "I... I didn't plan that! What if he blows our cover?"

Sherlock took a look at David, a smile appearing on his face. "We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Sherlock!", Joan hissed, but he was already walking over to David, ignoring her. He stopped next to him, looking at the movie schedules on the wall.

"You were right, honey!", Sherlock exclaimed loudly, glancing at Joan. He attracted David's attention. "As you often are. They are showing that movie tomorrow."

David turned around and noticed Joan, who was already making a reluctant step towards Sherlock. His face lightened up, and, noticing that, Sherlock ran over to her, holding her hand tightly.

"Joan?", David exclaimed.

"David!", Joan replied, trying to sound surprised.

"Oh, you two know each other?", Sherlock asked.

"We... we used to date", Joan said. "I am married now", she said, showing David her wedding ring.

Sherlock turned to face David. "David! Joan told me a lot about you. Thankfully, I don't take all of her statements to the face value."

"This is Shawn", Joan explained, cringing.

"You're a lucky man. Joan is a great girl." He sighed. "We were pretty serious back in the day."

"Well, that's too bad", Sherlock replied, suddenly sounding condescending. He did wrap it into a joke more or less though.

"I heard that you are no longer a surgeon."

Joan grinned. "Yes, I'm a consulting detective now. Who would have thought?" She blushed. "But I was a sober companion first, so..."

David frowned. "You dated that... Kyle guy soon after we broke up, right? I saw him around the city a few days ago... didn't get a chance to talk to him though."

Joan chuckled, still blushing. "Yeah, but... that wasn't serious."

"Well, it is all pretty serious now", Sherlock commented, putting his hand over Joan's shoulders and pulling her a bit closer, making her shiver.

"I see", David commented, nodding his head. He sounded a bit uncomfortable.

Joan took one more look at the line. "Oh, gotta go. Goodbye!" She ran over to the counter, pulling Sherlock with her, avoiding to look at David.

#

Joan had been rather distant since their return from the movie theater, and Sherlock sensed that she might be upset with him for some reason. However, she would usually tell him if that was the case. He concentrated on studying the prison records. He finally found something important at late afternoon, while Joan was in the kitchen, finishing her cup of fruit yogurt. Clyde was walking over the table slowly, being recorded by a small camera positioned near by.

"I've been studying prison records", he exclaimed. "I think I've found a lead. Richard Shupe. Don't mind Clyde, I'm just testing his speed."

Joan walked over to him, looking down at the papers, but didn't say anything. Sherlock continued his brief summations. "He died from cancer in prison, two months prior to the murder, while was serving a five year sentence for an illegal possession of a fire arm, but he was also a suspect in a series of armed robberies that happened in the area in 2010. The police couldn't find any evidence though. According to Miller's computer records, they visited the pages featuring summer houses on Long Island for sale. Nothing in their finantial records indicates that they would have been capable of such a purchase. Perhaps he bonded with Tracy. Revealed the location of the money to her. He had no surviving family." He ran his hands through his hair. "But that still doesn't explain the latest two murdered. And there isn't any hidden money in here. I checked. I even removed some of the floor boards. Don't worry, they are back in place now."

He looked up and saw Joan just standing there with a sulk, looking at him. "Are you upset?"

Joan sighed and sat down at the table, next to Sherlock. "He was a nice guy...", she started.

Sherlocj rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

"We had a great relationship. Then it started getting serious and I broke up with him. I thought about... calling him, but I couldn't see myself... starting again with him. After everything... I end up meeting him while pretending to be married to you!" She groaned, rubbing her forehead. "What is wrong with me?"

She looked up at Sherlock, realizing what he had said. "No offense."

"Oh, why would I take one?", Sherlock said.

Joan sighed, looking away. Sherlock thought hard for some time, observing her carefully, then leaned over.

"Stop pursuing your quest to an official monogamy", he advised her softly. "Just enjoy your life."

Joan looked him in the eyes tiredly. "I'm not sure I do."

"No life is perfect. If something is worth it... needed... it will come your way." He similar. "I only really need a permanent partner for emotional-intelectual reasons. And I have you."

Joan scoffed, though she felt something fluttering in her chest. "Really? You believe that?"

"I have come to accept that there is some justice to the world."

He was about to add a comment about her sex life that would have ruined the moment, but before he could, she hugged him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Sorry about the delay. I'm planning to have one more chapter to this story, after this one. Also, sorry if some parts seem too... sudden.**

Joan opened the box while her mother was sitting on the couch, going through some papers.

"We have to get rid of this thing tomorrow", her mother said. "Besides, I missed you."

A short silence ensued. Joan smiled at some old books placed inside, deciding to keep them. She pulled out a few old magazines, putting them away.

"I still can't believe this whole... undercover story", Mars commented.

Joan sighed. "I'll be fine, mom."

"Not just that, but the idea of you and Sherlock... acting that way... is odd."

Joan looked away, feeling herself blush. "In a good way or bad way?", she managed to whisper.

Mary observed her for some time, shivering at Joan's response. "Let me help you with that", she eventually said, standing up.

#

Thomas and Marcus sat at the table in Chris Jones' office, opposite to him. Young tall African American man smiled politely at them as Thomas spoke up. There was a big bookcase placed against the wall behind the table, and a large window with a nove view to the New York City on the left.

"Mr. Jones, it has come to our attention that you, I mean your company, are a bit of a rival with "Stanworth incorporated" construction company", he explained.

"True, though I still don't see how that concerns you", he replied.

"Five murders have been committed in one of the houses that had been build by "Stanworth incorporated" construction company", Marcus explained. "Thriple murder in 2012, double murder about a week ago."

Chris scoffed. "What, you think that we have something to do with that? In order to sabotage them?"

"In 2014, another house that had been build by them got burned down in a suspicious fire", Thomas calmly stated. "No fatalities." He smirked. "This is starting to look as a pattern."

"Hypothetically, if we wanted to sabotage them, why not torch down more than ime house? Why bother with the murders."

"Maybe you didn't want the crimes to be linked", Marcus suggested.

Chris sighed.

"Where were you a week ago, at about seven am?", Thomas asked.

"I was at the conference in Long Island", Chris answered after a short thinking. "I can give you the name of hotel. I used my credit card. Many people took photos, tweeted." "Besides, I had no reason for such sabotages. At least, not as of month ago."

"We have plans to join, another very successful construction company. Sabotages are the last things on our minds now."

Thomas and Marcus exchanged a look.

#

Joan arrived back home by two pm. She found Sherlock sitting on the living room floor, staring at the wall. To be fair, the wall was plastered with forensic reports and crime scene photographs, in a seemingly random way. His hair was a mess and his eyes were reddish, but for a change, he had a shirt on.

"How did it go?", Sherlock asked. "The meeting with your mother?"

"Pretty well", she answered, taking her coat off. She headed to the kitchen when Sherlock spoke up, surprising her.

"Thank you." Joan looked at him. He remained calm. "You have been questioning me about Fiona. Talking about her, that situation, has proven to be relieving. In a way."

Joan remained silent for some time, considering his words. "You're welcome." She looked at the kitchen table, noticing some dirty dishes. "You had lunch?"

"I found an old pizza in the refrigerator. I assume it belonged to Jones'. You?"

"I had something on my way."

Sherlock sighed, looking at the display in front of him. "First three victims were an African American family", he said. "Husband and wife were in their thirties. The child was murdered also. Husband and son were stabbed to death, the wife was poisoned to death. The latest two victims were both Caucasian, in their 20s." He rubbed his eyes before running a hand through his hair. "I don't understand this!"

Suddenly, the doorbell went off. Sherlock and Joan exchanged a look, both realizing that the other wasn't expecting anyone.

Sherlock stood up and walked over to the door, with Joan following closely after him. He looked through the peephole. Young woman was standing in front of their door. She was brunette, petite, in her late twenties.

"Who's that?", Joan asked in a whisper, slowly walking a few steps forward.

"A young woman that I've never seen before", Sherlock exclaimed silently, moving away. Joan took his place, looking through the peep hole as well.

"Me neither", she said before looking up at Sherlock, a look of worry on her face. "What do we do?", she asked.

Sherlock looked back at her for some time, intently, his lips quivering slightly. "We let her in", he eventually decided.

"You go to the bedroom, use the radio, inform them everything is alright Abd that we will contact them if something goes wrong", he advised her.

Joan nodded her head and walked toward the bedroom as Sherlock took a deep breath, waited till she was out of sight, then unlocked and opened the door, making sure to leave the dead bolt on.

A wide smile appeared on woman's face as soon as the door opened. "Hello?", she said cheerfully. "You live here?"

"Yes", Sherlock answered, cautiously.

"Your wife isn't at home?", the woman asked innocently.

Sherlock frowned. "How do you know I'm married?"

The visitor chuckled briefly. "I work around here." She blushed. "I notice things."

Sherpock furrowed his eyebrows. "She's at home", he answered. What do you need?"

"I do some research about house developments in this neighborhood. I'd just like to talk to you two for a two months."

"Oh. I thought that such things are almost exclusively done online now."

"Some companies still prefer actual conversations. Personal approach."

"OK then", he agreed. He then closed the door, removed the dead bolt, opened the door, and moved aside, allowing the visitor to come in. He kept looking at her, even as he closed and locked the door behind.

At that point, Joan walked back into the living room, giving Sherlock a questioning look. He shrugged, indicating that he didn't know any details yet, but signaled her to remain calm.

The attendee looked around, still smiling. "You have a nice place", she complinented.

Sherlock forced a smile. "We sure do."

Joan flinched, suddenly feeling a need to chime in. "Sit down", she offered, walking over to the couch. Their visitor giggled and followed her. She sat on the sofa, that had been positioned opposite to the couch. Sherlock and Joan sat down on the couch.

"No offense, but may I see some IDs, please?", Sherlock asked politely.

The young woman just stared back at them at first, apparently taken aback, but soon relaxed.

"Of course", she answered, unzipping her purse. Joan clenched her fists while Sherlock casually pressed his hand against the coffee table, near the letter opener that laid there.

But nothing dramatic or threatening took place. Their visitor carefully produces her ID, hanging it to Sherlock. Both he and Joan took a good look at it. The ID read "Rena Hawkes". She was twenty nine.

"How long have you been living here?", Rena asked, taking her ID back.

"We just moved in a few days ago", Joan answered, trying to smile.

"Oh! Nice." Rena looked around. "Any thoughts about... the house? Neighborhood?"

"Well, it's all pretty nice. So far", Joan said, chuckling a little by the end.

"We are pretty satisfied so far", Sherlock continued. "Small house, suburb, quiet neighborhood... we always wanted a place like this."

"Nice", Rena said. She looked around once again. "How much did you pay for it?"

"With all due respect, we wouldn't be comfortable answering that", Joan answered calmly.

Once again, Rena just stared at her for some time, her jaw clenched. But she soon relaxed. "Of course. Sorry." "Truth be told, I feel a little uncomfortable being in here..." She looked Sherlock in the eyes. "I heard what happened."

"Yes, we were aware of that. But you don't exactly get... an offer like that every day and we believe in starting over. That the space is what you make out of it."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled out a pen from his pocket, in between the notepad and a phone, and threw it at Rena, making it look accidental. It landed on the couch.

Rena flinched and reached for her pocket, but soon relaxed.

"Sorry", Sherlock said, smiling.

"It's OK."

Rena slowly moved her hand away from her pocket. Joan shifted in her seat. Both she and Sherlock carefully observed Rena's jeans.

"You're not writing anything down", Sherlock pointed out.

"Oh! I... I was just starting a conversation. Nothing really important." "May I have a glass of water?"

"Sure. The kitchen is there." He grinned. "I can get it for you."

Rena just waved her hand away dismissively. "No, I can do it myself."

She stood up and went into the kitchen, with Sherlock and Joan carefully looking after her. Sherlock raised his hands at one of the hidden cameras near by, as the sign for the officers to hold off.

"We shouldn't have let her in!", Joan hissed.

"We need to be sure", Sherlock mumbled. "If she is the killer..."

Joan glared at him. "And you waited for her to go inside before you asked for her ID?"

"I didn't want to seem too careful of professional, that would turn her off."

"Man... that couple must have been as happy as you", she commented, chuckling nervously. "At some point." She sighed. "And then..."

Joan frowned, scooting away from Rena. "You seem to know a lot about the murders."

"I follow the news."

Several tense moments passed. Rena shoved a hand down her pocket. She grinned.

"Consider yourself lucky", she commented, walking a few steps closer. "For your happiness. It can easily be... gone."

Joan gulped. Sherlock stood up. "With all due respect, we are starting to feel uncomfortable", he exclaimed. "We would like you to leave."

Rena just looked at him for some time, surprised, but quickly turned to face Joan, who also stood up. "Why?", Rena asked, walking closer to Joan. "I am just... making small talk."

Joan took one more step back, reaching with her hand toward the coffee table. Rena gripped her wrist, making Joan groan.

At that point, Sherlock grabbed Rena by the right forearm and yanked her towards the couch, after smacking her other hand away from Joan. She groaned and fell on to it. Joan gasped and took a step back. Sherlock wicked at the hidden camera.

Rena managed to free from Sherlock's grasp a bit and raise her leg, planning to kick him. Joan snapped back to attention, rushed closer and hit Rena below the knee. Rena groaned, and Sherlock was able to full overpower her.

"What the hell, man?", Rena cried.

Sherlock pulled Rena's hand out of her pocket.

She was holding her phone. Rena whimpered.

The loud sound was heard from the hallway. Kimberly rushed in, with her gun pointed, widening her eyes at the sight in the living room.

"What took you so long?", Sheldon growled, breathing heavily.

#

The dusk was close to settling upon the city. Sherlock walked over to Joan, who was sitting on the couch. He put the plate in front of her.

"A yorkshire pudding", he exclaimed. "I make it when I'm upset. I didn't want it to go to waste."

Joan sighed. "Clever."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I assure you, your safety is still my priority, as well as everyone else's."

Joan smiled slightly. "I was aware of the possible risks when I agreed to this. And I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

Sherlock nodded his head took one more look at her, then made his way to the hallway. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Thomas Gregson. Captain answered after the second ring.

"Hallo?"

"Have you managed to learn anything about the suspect?", Sherlock asked silently.

Thomas turned away from the interrogation room window: Rena was still inside, sitting at the table. "Yeah", he answered. "Rina Hawkes, twenty eight. Her fiance died in a boating accident two years ago. We searched her apartment. She has an obsession with cheesy romance novels... and serial killers."

Sherlock sighed. "A fitting combination."

"But records and security footages show that she was at work when Jones' were murdered."

"She heard about the case from the media and couldn't resist", Sherlock reasoned. "She went over in order to scoop out the crime scene, the area. When she saw the other couple already moved in, me and Joan, she couldn't resist."

A short silence ensued. "Is Joan OK?", Thomas eventually asked.

Sherlock took one more quick look at her. "She is a little shaken up. But she will be fine."

#

Sherlock and Joan had a quiet dinner, a Chinese food take out. Sherlock kept looking at Joan secretly, studying her condition. Her shoulders were still tense, and she would gulp sometimes, but otherwise she seemed OK.

"One good thing about this situation is that there are many decent restaurants near by", Sherlock commented, standing up and walking over to the sink. He put his now empty plate and a drinking glass into it.

Joan took a sip of water, looking away for a moment. "That was brave of you", she said softly.

Sherlock looked up at her. He slowly walked back over to the table before sitting down, opposite to Joan. "She didn't have a gun", he reminded her.

Joan sat down at the table, next to him. "But she could have had. And she was approaching me. And I was closer to her than you. And you could have just given the signal. The hidden camera was near by."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "You had a pretty... nice reaction yourself", he complimented. "You helped me incapicate her as quickly as possible." "But you still didn't react fast enough."

Joan rolled her eyes. "There was no certain or visible threat."

"A lack of certain threat doesn't necessarily exclude a gaping gunshot wound or a knife to the throat. And the cameras can only capture that much. The team didn't get the hint so..."

"You were right."

Sherlock stared at her, surprised by the interruption.

"I mean, about what you said last night", Joan declared, standing up. "I overthink some things. I guess I should just enjoy the things that... make me happy. Give me the purpose in life." She took a step closer to Sherlock, looking him in the eyes. "And I enjoy this."

Sherlock took a step closer to her, lowering his voice, almost subconsciously. "I am happy, Joan. For your decision."

In the next moment, their lips locked. They couldn't figure who initiated it, and they didn't care. Sherlock shuddered at the feeling of Joan's warm, soft lips against his. She moaned, making him shiver. He took a deep breath, deepening the kiss. Joan sighed, feeling warmth spread through her body, arousal slowly taking her over. She felt excited, surprised, shocked, happy... like she just began experiencing something that had been bound to happen all long. But the most of all, she felt peaceful.

Sherlock slipped his tongue into her mouth and gently put his hands on her shoulders, making her moan. She laid her hands on the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. They stood up, his body leaning into hers. He took a step forward, and she followed him, neither of them breaking the kiss.

And they made their way down the hallway, moans and gasps filling the brownstone.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I don 't own any of the "Elementaryl characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my natove language.**

 **Sorry about the delay, but here it is! The final chapter of my story. The conclusion to this tale. I hope you enjoy it. There may be a sequel in the future, but I don't have anything planned specifically.**

Sherlock sighed and rolled over in bed, moving closer to Joan. Her head was positioned to the side, and she was staring through the near by window tiredly. Sherlock was looking at her, at the loss of words for the first time. Her breathing was surprisingly shallow, and the room was still filled with the most interesting odors.

Sherlock smirked. "You are blushing."

Joan looked away. "I am not."

Sherlock shrugged. "There isn't much left to be ashamed of now..."

"Ugh", Joan groaned.

Sherlock frowned, moving away a bit. "Are you worried that our recent love making will forever change the paradigm of our partnership and friendship, presumably for the worse?"

"Yes!", Joan cried, turning to face him.

"Oh. I was hoping for something more complex." He sighed. "That way, I could have suggested that we sleep over it."

"Sherlock!", Joan exclaimed.

"Listen. I made sure to avoid all the security cameras on our way to the bedroom. There aren't any in the bedroom anyway. There is nothing wrong with two consenting adults traveling into the wonderful world of release together."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Yes. Because what happened was all about that. Body release."

Sherlock frowned. "I detect sarcasm."

Joan shook her head, looking away. "Just forget it."

Sherlock moved his ears close to her ear. Joan shivered. "Listen... I am quite certain that, if the paradigm changes, it will be for the better", he mused.

Joan shuddered. "Yeah, sure."

He laid the side of his face down on the pillow, brushing it against hers. "Am I the kind of person who would have sex with a woman that he has known for years, getting to know her in any other ways but that, just for the sake of having sex?", he asked softly.

Joan blinked, her skin turning flushed again, but didn't respond.

Sherlock widened his eyes. "That's what scares you", he concluded.

No response.

"And why is that?"

Still nothing.

"Are you afraid of losing me?"

She sighed.

"We will all die eventually. Unless I find the new fountain of youth. Then we could solve crimes and have sex forever. Neat."

They both burst into laughter. Sherlock lied on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "I am not going to lie. I find the concept of love... incomprehensible. I can't grasp it." Joan scooted closer to him. "The only thing that I know for sure that our... act, has only made me care about you even more." He smiled slightly. "I never thought that would be possible. Care even more about you." He turned his head to face her. "I was wrong."

Joan looked him in the eyes. "How do we proceed?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I never thought I'd say this, but maybe we should just go by our feelings."

Joan grinned. "I'd like to do this again."

"Of course, nobody at the precinct can know. Yet."

Joan rolled her eyes. "That would make for some disturbing insult-sketches on those flyers."

Sherlock widened his eyes, a memory resurfacing. He slowly started linking the pieces together. "A flyer..."

It was then that the bedroom door opened.

Joan screamed and sat up in bed. Sherlock quickly moved to stand up, but stopped.

Horatio Simms was standing there, black leather gloves over his hands, holding a gun pointed to Sherlock and Joan.

"Hello here, lovebirds", he taunted them. "Don't move. It's time to die."

"Mr. Simms", Sherlock exclaimed, trying to stay calm. "I admit, we didn't expect you. Though I figured everything out as of very recently."

At that point, Joan froze, her eyes glued to her bra, laying on the floor. Sherlock noticed that and winked at her briefly, then quickly turned to face Horatio, about to begin his summation.

"Oh, really?", Horatio asked.

"Richard Shupe, the bank robber", Sherlock explained as calmly as possible, staring down the barrel of Horatio's gun. He gently held Joan's hand. " He grew close to Tracy Miller. His nurse. He revealed the location of the money to her. Around that time, she, and her family, grew close to you. Their handy man. I assume that, at one point, you revealed that your cousin works at an exchange office, right? I saw a flyier at your office. You must have been moonlighting at the time. No phone records, no bank transactions. They reached out to you, hoping to have their money "washed". Or maybe Tracy did it by herself, since you, originally, only planned to murder her. Eventually, you decided to keep all the money to yourself. You convinced her to let you in your house, and then you poisoned her. But her husband and son arrived home early, before she died, and saw you. You panicked and murdered them both. She arrived and tried to fight you off, and you fought back, inflicting her some injuries and transfering traces of blood on her. Then you fled. After searching the home and taking anything that could lead the police to you. And you got lucky. The deaths were ruled murders/suicide. You haven't even touched the money for years. Not even after it's been "washed". And when Jones' uncovered your secret, you murdered them too. And made those deaths appear to be murder/suicide. This time, intentionally."

"There was one hidden area that you didn't find the first time around", Joan continued. With her leg, she was slowly pushing the bra toward the near by bedroom window, planning to kick it. "Somewhere behind the kitchen cupboard. Some info was hidden there. Your phone number, that they never got to use. Maybe even something about the money. That is why they called you. And that is the real reason why you deleted the info about those calls from your cellphone. They were on to you, wanted their cut. So you murdered them. Then we started investigating. We expressed our doubts about the murder/suicide theory. Doubts relating to the deaths from four years prior too. The media started developing the serial killer theory. You found out and decided to run with that. That is why you sent that taunting letter and blood samples to the closest precinct. You haven't even touched the money all these years. You waited for the investigations to die down. Itist mean a lot to you."

Sherlock and Joan exchanged a brief glance. Joan finally kicked the bra to the other end of the room, right under the bedroom window. It bounced against the wall and landed on the floor a few inches away. "And now, you are going to murder us too", Sherlock concluded, feeling cold sweat running ddown his body. Joan gulped. "You must have done some research about us after our conversation. We try our best to keep low profile, me and Joan. But you can only go as far today. You found out about our... achievements. Skills. Since we were already pretty sure that the deaths were not murder/suicide, and you already became involved into the investigation, you figured that it was just a matter of time before we would.. well, get you."

"How did you manage to get inside?", Joan asked.

Horatio smiled. "I figured that the security in the basement would be weaker. I noticed that line on the floor and made sure to step over it, slowly. I circles around the neighborhood a few days after you interrogated me, checking things out. Imagine how surprise I was to discover that you live here now. Working undercover, obviously."

"There are hidden cameras in here too", Joan pointed out.

"I took the shortest path to the bedroom. I figured there would be none on that location."

"You've taken a lot of risk", Sherlock commented.

Horatio grinded his teeth. "I'm not leaving that money. And I'm not going to prison."

At that moment, the bedroom door bust open. Horatio quickly turned in that direction, pointing his gun. Kimberly was standing there, her gun pointed at him.

"Drop the gun!", she ordered. "Now."

Horatio stared intently at her for some time, his gun pointed. Eventually, he dropped the gun on the floor and lied down on his knees.

Kimberly walked over to him and handcuffed him.

Joan sat up in bed, her body still wrapped into the bed sheet, and looked Horatio in the eyes. "We were stalling you", she said, triumphally. "My bra was on the floor. All I had to do was push it toward the area underneath bedroom window. It activated the silent alarm."

She then stared at Kimberly, eyes wide and face blushed. Sherlock looked away and reached underneath the covers, quickly pulling his underwear on. Kimberly just shook her head and led Horatio away.

#

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief after putting the last box filled with his personal items on the table. Dining room table, located in the brownstone. They were back.

Joan followed after him, a box containing Clyde in her hands. She sighed and looked around, putting the box down on the table. "It's nice to be back", she exclaimed.

"It sure is", Sherlock agreed. "Though we can still have separate bedrooms if you want."

Joan smiled, walking over to him and kissing him on the lips. "Nah", she said. "Call it in whatever cynical way you want, but you love me."

Sherlock brushed a strand of Joan's hair behind her ear. "Don't say that", he whispered, smiling warmly. "Rarely."

They kissed again, longer this time.

"Joan?", Sherlock whispered as they pulled away.

"Yes?", Joan responded, licking her lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

~THE END~


End file.
